u're named Rosemary?" asked Jack curiously, thinking
it strange that he had never noticed before how pretty freckles
were.

Rosemary's expressive face sobered.

"Partly," she answered, "but I had a sister, you know, whom I never
saw. She was named Mary, for Mother. And she died when she was three
years old. So when I was born, a year later, Mother named me
'Rosemary,' which means remembrance. Mother told me once that I was
named in memory of the little dead sister, and for the flowers she
loved and to please my father who thought 'Mary' the most beautiful
name in the world. So I've always liked my name."

"It suits you, somehow," said Jack. "Want to hold this bush steady
while I fill in round the roots?"

Whenever Jack was touched, he sought employment for his hands, for
fear he might say something to show his feeling. He had all the
boy's horror of "making a fool" of himself.

April, with its soft, sudden showers and its exquisite velvety
greens ran into May with its first hot days and the sound of Peter
Cooper's hammer loud in the land as he diligently worked putting up
screens and awnings. Aunt Trudy began to "feel the heat" and Winnie
and Sarah battled again over the ethics of killing defenseless
flies.

Toward the end of the month, the Student's Council, conceived the
plan of holding a picnic for the three schools, an all-day picnic
some Saturday. The plan was proposed at a morning assembly and met
with such vigorous and hearty response that the date was settled
upon then and there. Winnie was besieged that night by three excited
girls who asked her advice on what "would do" to take to the picnic.

"We want to take enough, because some of them will bring only a
little," said Rosemary. "The boys always stuff an apple in their
pockets and then wonder why they are hungry when noon comes."

"I'll pack you three lunches that will be lunches," promised Winnie,
"and there'll be enough to give away, too."

"We're going in motor trucks," bubbled Shirley, "I want to ride up
front."

"I want to ride on back," proclaimed Sarah who never, by any chance,
seemed to agree with anyone else. "I want to ride with my feet
hanging over. And I'm going to tie a string to Shirley's rag doll
and drag it in the dust--like the pictures in the Early Martyrs
book, you know."

Shirley began to hop up and down with anger and began to cry.

"I won't have my dolly dragged in the dust," she shrieked.

"Martyrs have to be dragged i